I’ve fallen for the echoes of the voices in my head
The remnants of a dream I’ve been trying to forget
Pain is a sentiment necessary to the heart
Those who dare to love must be ready to fall apart

Like yesterday, today is dull with longing
You promised you’d stay but I wouldn’t know if you were lying
False promises of a false hope but you don’t know where this leads
Worlds are burnt to the ground when a genuine heart bleeds

I’ve lost too much now to be scared of losing
I’m my own anchor and my heart I’m holding
I’m my own sails, I’m not afraid of getting lost
Those who’re cold inside aren’t afraid of the frost

Why did you call me from the dungeon of my thoughts?
Only to remind of the wars that I’ve fought?
Of the ugly scars they’ve left forever in my soul
Nobody chooses pain, to walk on burning coal

A writer’s pen is like a photographer’s picture, only more elaborate for it ceases not just a moment but those yet to come, those that may or may not come true and those that give you the hope to keep living. So being a writer’s friend you are on paper, just more real than everyone else and a little more imaginary and fantastical, for you now are a plethora of hopes for someone.

Now, when people ask me who I am ( which is what I identify myself as) I often tell them I’m a student. There’s an infinite amount of knowledge scattered all over the world, I couldn’t stop being a student even if I wanted to. Like Lord Byron, I do believe that only so much can be learnt from books. The real things are learnt in the school of life and life indeed is the most disciplined of all teachers.

So the other day I received a letter from a friend. From whatever memory I have of the past, this friend of mine was always looked upon as the most cold and reserved person. His personality reflects his candid nature. You know if you want an honest opinion about something you might want to ask him. If you wanted to take a pragmatic decision, he’s the best one to ask suggestions from. For some reason, it had always been beyond me that someone could ever be so cold and indifferent the way he comes out to everyone. Somewhere in my heart I have always known that it might be true that some people feel things more deeply than others but it’s rather impossible to feel nothing at all.

When I read the letter I realised how wrong a lot of our friends had been all these years. How insane it is, the fact that being strong sometimes means you have no one around to care for you. Everyone needs care. Everyone deserves it.

I think when the coldest of all hearts break, it hurts the most. And because you as their friend have never faced this before you just don’t know how to help them heal. And you just can’t wait and watch them hurt. It’s a terrible place to be in, both ways.

It is only after reading the letter I realised how much lack of love the world has. How many problems would be solved if people were blatantly honest the way my friend is. Life’s gonna be beautiful only if we keep changing our perspective on it. Looking at it in the same direction, the way a horse looks at the finishing point, might help you end the race. Even win it. But you’re surely gonna miss a lot of the journey, the most beautiful parts of it.

To be cared for is beautiful but to care for someone selflessly is the most gratifying feeling in the world. To be cared for gives your courage but to care for someone shows you the strength you never knew you had.

I read the letter from the balcony of my apartment that has a serene view of a lake, of the busy streets of my city and of an unending pair of railway tracks. It felt like the city stood still for a moment and the wind that ruffled my hair told me, that perhaps it’s not all that bad to love with all your heart and live with all your guts, if only you try to look at things with a perspective a little different than yours.

So I know quiet a few people who know French! French is sort of an optional or an elective subject that one can take.. Since it turns out to be the third language/ in some cases 4th, it’s actually not given much attention.

Two people I know who love french are some of the loveliest people in my life whose presence I most certainly cherish. One is the author of the post I just shared. The other is my boyfriend.

I read this post when she published it and it just filled this silly head of mine with so many thoughts that I couldn’t gather them right away.

Learning a new language isn’t a process it’s an emotion. I had never looked at it this way until I read excerpts from Jhumpa Lahiri’s new book In Other Words that is her experience of writing in Italian (she’s an American whose roots are from India, her parents being Bengali

I realise that learning a new language sparks a new sense of curiosity. More like a new place to live in.

I don’t know when and how but learning a new language is definitely on my bucket list.

Thanks Sonali for giving us this much needed dose of optimism and self love. We in this space are always looking for such bits of joy! Love xx

While most of us might not be gifted enough to write beautiful, moving poetry or even be able to properly jot down the feelings that we have for our beloved, literature is filled with people who were not just great writers but also great romantics. This Valentine’s Day we’re here to play cupid and help you navigate the complexities and mysteries of love. Here are 14 romantic lines from literature that will definitely help you swoon your love.

They say all artists are obsessed with love. Well, all artists are obsessed with emotions and love is a very strong emotion. I remember during my early teens I was a naive ‘I hate love stories ‘ person. I’m sure a lot of you have gone through that phase.

Eventually I grew out of that. No, that doesn’t mean I’m a hopeless romantic binge watching rom-coms and reading crazy ass Cecelia Ahern books. I can’t do that. I hate the portrayal of love in this ‘perfect’ fashion. Like.. Why are you raising false expectations in us? Just because the man I love never gave me flowers doesn’t me he feels no love for me! All love stories are different. Because life is different for different people. And all this hype about the perfect romance constantly keeps pushing us towards trying to live the fucking cliché which almost never materialises because duh! It’s not meant to!

I don’t even know what love is. Who does? Every person has their own take on the issue and the only conclusion you can come to from this is that love is a unique experience for everyone.

So here’s my take on it:

Two years ago I read this life changing classic, Lady Chatterley’s Lover by D. H. Lawrence. The protagonist is a man from native English background who says that he wants a real woman. The idea of women being idols of sophistication and elegance does not quite suit him. He says he wants a woman who can shit and piss, a woman who wants to be loved both body and soul. And why shouldn’t he want such a woman! Only a few people dare to step out of the stereotype and truly chase life and taste what it is.

This book obviously was banned because of explicit writing and the crazy idea of love on a whole that the society for a really long time wasn’t in a position to accept.

Some other books that changed my perspective on the topic are: The Time Traveller’s Wife by Audrey Niffineger , Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami, We That Are Left by Clare Clarke to name a few.

Love doesn’t have to be perfect, it has to be true. If two people genuinely want each other, irrespective of how crazy the circumstances are, how impossible reaching the shore might seem, love does really find it’s way. And if you ever end up meeting a man/ woman who does not stand for your love, be glad that you came to know about it because life is short and nobody deserves a coward lover.

Well so many words, because I can’t touch you. If I could sleep with my arms around you, the ink could stay in the bottle. […] We really trust in the little flame, and in the unnamed god that shields it from being blown out. There’s so much of you here with me, really, that it’s a pity you aren’t all here.

It’s been a while since I published anything at all here. I miss this space which lets my thoughts survive and not choke them. Sometimes the blankness of it gets on me, at other times I just need a place for my thoughts and hence my coming back again and again to this naive titled blog I started as a teenager.

So much has changed I realise. I have changed. The people who were with me then have changed. I no longer am the bubbly extrovert I used to be. In retrospect I notice myself curling more and more into myself. I don’t want a huge herd of friends, I don’t even take the effort anymore. I have learnt to nurture the relationships that have stayed with me, I want more of the real thing, I want more raw, more undressed, more unconventional. It’s my thirst for the truth or my understanding of the triviality of the drama that I see all around me. My recent encounter with depression and anxiety has pushed me more towards introspection. I realise the importance of my thoughts and how they change me and affect the world around me.

Of late I meet a lot of people who tell me I’m rad, some tell me I’m outspoken and some others that I’m shameless. What I do realize is that being a woman is not about being ashamed or abashed about real things, it’s about embracing ourselves both psychologically and biological. To accept that I want sentiment, I want pleasure and that I’m worthy of it all. Not because I’m a woman but because I’m a human being and I as a woman of the 21st century am free to practice my right to freedom of being whatever the hell I want to be, as long as what I do is humane. Ain’t no shame in my game!

I have seen myself turning more towards books. Now I am officially living an adult life, I live on my own, take care of my own needs and try to contribute whatever I can to the society around me. But in this process of achieving the state of pleasant solitude, in my quest of accepting myself and continuous exploration of what I am and what I can be, I somehow feel that either I’m being left behind or I am leaving behind a lot of people around me. I see complete different perspectives, I feel that we aren’t on the same plane anymore. That’s okay. I have to trust my journey.

Nothing makes me happier than people who understand the passion that drives me, who understand that the world needs more thinkers and dreamers and not pretenders and fuss makers. I’m not the only one. Sometimes lying in my bed at night, staring at the ceiling I wonder how many people like me are lying on their beds, staring at their ceiling and dreaming about things that may or may not happen, about things that make them happy or terrify them, about things that move them irrespective. And my heart reaches out to everyone out there. To every kid who dreams. Dreams are the only real thing in a world full of hollow people and fake promises. Because dreams give you a place to be. Dreams give you a reason to stay. To stay and to change; many a times ourselves and sometimes the world.